


Lucky Stars

by RosesAndRevolutions



Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe, Spider-Man (Tom Holland Movies), Spider-Man - All Media Types, The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: F/M, Hurt/Comfort, Peter Parker Needs a Hug, Precious Peter Parker
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-04-03
Updated: 2020-04-03
Packaged: 2021-03-01 01:34:16
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,382
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23457112
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/RosesAndRevolutions/pseuds/RosesAndRevolutions
Summary: Peter thanks his lucky stars he has someone like MJ to come home to after a rough night of keeping his city safe.
Relationships: Peter Parker/Mary Jane Watson
Comments: 1
Kudos: 19





	Lucky Stars

**Author's Note:**

> I needed a break from working on a longer-form story and this idea popped into my head. I love the idea of a sweet, quiet moment between Peter and MJ. One part angst, ninety-nine parts fluff.

Peter and MJ are both in college now. Peter is studying chemical engineering at MIT and MJ is pre-med at Columbia. It’s summer break and Peter is back in New York for an internship at Stark Industries. He’s renting an apartment in the same building as MJ and she’s gotten used to their nightly routine of hanging out after his patrols. Tonight Peter comes back a little worse for the wear…

\-----

MJ turned on the oven and glanced up at the clock, 12:17am. Karen sent her an alert 10 minutes ago letting her know that Peter was on his way back to the apartment, so she pulled the plate of leftover lasagna out of the refrigerator and placed it into the oven to heat up. She closed the oven door and started to wipe her hands on the pair of Peter’s ratty old flannel pants she was wearing before she changed her mind and reach for the towel on the counter. She walked back to the couch and switched on the TV, mindlessly scrolling through the channels. Her favorite blanket was laying over the back of the couch so she grabbed it and draped it over herself, and then leaned against the arm of the couch.

She heard the screeching sound of the window in the hallway being raised and the heavy footfall of her boyfriend stumbling through the opening.

“Hey babe,” she called, not looking away from the TV. “Food’s in the oven once you’re showered.”

She kept flipping through the stations until she landed on the nature channel. There was a documentary on the Serengeti playing that caught her attention. A mother cheetah was teaching her cubs how to bathe in a deep rain puddle and it was honestly the cutest thing she’d ever seen.

“Babe, you’ve gotta come see this,” she said casually, wadding up a piece of paper from the coffee table and throwing it behind her, in his general direction. “There’s a momma cheetah. She’s got four little cubs and she’s doing bath time in a rain puddle. If this doesn’t melt your heart, then… then you don’t have a heart.” 

Well that wasn’t very likely. Peter had the biggest heart of anyone she knew, but still. 

“Peter?” she asked, not hearing any motion from the hallway. “You still over there?” 

There was a beat before she heard the grunting, “Ngh,” followed by the grumbling “Yeah, m’ here.”

“Peter?” she asked again, her voice an octave higher with worry. She pushed the blanket off of her and sat up straight. “Are you okay?”

She stood up and walked over to the narrow hallway to find Peter sitting below the windowsill, knees folded up to his chest, head tiled back against the brick wall. His hand was pressed up against his side along a rip in his suit, blood seeping though the spaces between his fingers. MJ could see several more tears across his body. She rushed forward, heart suddenly pounding in her chest. “Peter, what happened?” she asked, trying unsuccessfully to keep the panic out of her voice, as her wide eyes took another long glance over his stiff body. 

She reached her hands to either side of his neck and gently pulled the elastic fabric of the mask over his head. An angry bruise was already forming across his right cheekbone and he had yet to open his eyes. She took a moment to study his face, the tension in his brow and the heavy bags that had settled under his eyes, before she reached out a hand to cup the unmarked side of his face. She could feel his body trembling slightly beneath her palm. 

“Hey Peter,” she tried again, keeping her voice soft, “do we need to call Bruce?”

At this he slowly blinked his eyes open, squinting at the harsh light above him. She reached her free hand up to switch the hallway light off and then stood up to close the window above them, keeping the draft from making either of them any colder.

“No,” he responded tiredly. “I’m fine. S’riously,” he added, not too convincingly. “Just sore… little bit bloody, ‘nd sleepy. Real sleepy.”

MJ knelt down in front of Peter again, pulling his hands away from his injured side. “Okay, well let me take a look and I’ll decide,” she demanded. Even the sleepiest Peter Parker knew never to say no to MJ so he moved his hands up to his knees, wincing at the movement. From what she could see the cut was about four inches long and while the bleeding had slowed, it hadn’t stopped completely. She used her fingers to rip another inch or two in the suit, trying to pull the material away from the injury without getting her unwashed hands near the wound. 

“Jesus, babe, what happened?” she muttered, more to herself than him. Peters eyes were closed again and she could feel his breaths start to deepen. 

“MJ, my suit. Did’ya just rip m’suit?” he whined, still not bothering to look her in the eyes.

“Yeah, Peter, I hate to break it to you but that’s the least of the damage you’re going to have to fix on this thing tomorrow,” she responded sarcastically. Ever since Mr. Stark left- died, really, but Peter could never bring himself to say it as anything other than “left”- Peter had been forced to do suit repairs on his own. He found the work tedious and boring and MJ knew he was going to hate himself when he saw all of this damage in the morning.

She reached over and grabbed the mask she’d discarded next to her injured boyfriend, flipped it inside out, and brought it as close to her face as she dared. It reeked of his sweat and it was obvious that he took about as much of an interest in cleaning the suit as he did in repairing it. Luckily the suit had a pretty decent built-in disinfectant. 

“Karen, can you give me a status on Peter, please” she asked kindly, before setting the mask back down on the floor. She folded her legs beneath her and slowly moved her hands up and down the sides of Peter’s legs, soothingly, waiting for the scan to complete. Logically she knew the AI had no feelings but it never hurt to be nice to the thing keeping watch over the person she loved.

“Scan complete,” the somewhat robotic voice of the AI reported. “No life-threatening injuries detected. One laceration along the left side of the torse, approximately three quarters of an inch deep, several small lacerations along the back and chest, and scattered bruising detected across the body. Blood pressure is slightly elevated but consistent with recently observed stress levels. Body temperature is a degree and a half below normal. Blood sugar is 68 mg/dL, showing early indication of hypoglycemia.”

While not great, this was surprisingly not the worst shape she’d found Peter in after a patrol. She didn’t have enough fingers and toes to count the number of times her pre-med education had come in handy for the role of Spider-Man’s girlfriend.

“Do I want to know?” she asked, carding her fingers through his hair, knowing it was a rhetorical question. Peter opened his eyes again, trying hard to keep the very small but very smug smile from forming on his lips. “Prob’ly not, honestly.” 

MJ was such a sucker for his brown eyes and mischievous smile. She used the tie around her wrist to pull her hair back into a ponytail, and then pushed herself off the ground. She bent over at the waist and reached her hands down to grab Peter under the arms.

“C’mon, handsome, let’s get you cleaned up,” and she pulled his tired body off the floor. She put his left arm over her shoulder, reached her right arm around his waist, and helped him slowly shuffle toward the bathroom. His right hand reached across, protectively, to cover the wound on his side and she could hear the strain in his breathing with every small step. She reached her left hand up and locked her fingers through his, and they took the last fifteen steps to the bathroom together in silence.

Quietly, she opened the door and led Peter over to the sink, helping him ease his hips against the counter. She pressed the icon at the center of his chest and heard the familiar hiss of the tension in the material releasing, as the suit went slack against his body. She pulled the neck of the suit down over his chest, careful not tug on the areas where dried blood was serving as an adhesive between his skin and the suit. And then one by one she gently pulled Peter’s arms from the sleeves, careful to mind the nagging injury in his right shoulder.

With his suit partially removed, she could appreciate the full spectacle of the mess in front of her. In the mirror she could see the long cuts along his back and the bruises forming between them. His hair was soaked through with sweat, sticking up in every direction, and there was a tiredness in his eyes that was usually reserved for finals week and big project deadlines. After Tony left Peter came across a box full of half-baked ideas, genius already even that form, and now he was working overtime to bring one of those ideas to the board before he left for the fall semester. It was too much, MJ thought, even for the young superhero, but MJ knew better than anyone that Peter would never listen to reason. So she decided to do what she could do best, which was take care of him. Clean his wounds when he came home bloody and listen to his ramblings when he caught an idea, because that’s what he always did for her. He took care of her, just like he took care of his aunt, and Pepper, and Morgan, and the people of Queens. She was always happy when it was her chance to return the favor.

“Are you sure you’re okay, Peter?” she asked again, brushing her fingers through his messy hair. Her words even softer than that the last time. “It’s been awhile since you’ve come home like this.” He was staring off to the side of her, lost in thought, so she shifted herself to meet his eye-line.

“Yeah, hun. M’ fine,” he responded, with a tired smile. He mustered enough energy to place his hands on her hips and lean his head down to her forehead. “You’re the greatest, y’know?” he spoke sweetly. “Where w’ld I be without you?”

“Well,” she teased, “Probably passed out in the hallway right now, so you should thank your lucky stars.” She unwrapped his hands from the side of her hips, careful not to jostle his injured side, and pushed herself away from the counter. She turned around, drew the curtain back, and started running the water for a shower. Hot, humid air instantly filled the room and it was a welcome relief from the dry and cold air outside. MJ could see a shudder run up Peter’s back. She moved back to the sink to wash her hands, and then reached for the cabinet behind Peter’s head and pulled out a large box of gauze pads and a roll of tape. 

She unwrapped a pad and then placed it up against the wound in his side, bringing one of his hands over to hold the bandage in place. He couldn’t help but hiss at the pain from the pressure. The white of the bandage was already beginning to turn red. She used her fingernails to rip small strips of medical-grade waterproof tape and then used those strips to secure the bandage to his skin. Confident that the wound wouldn’t get wet she put the box of bandages and tape back into the cupboard and look back at Peter with a smile.

“Alright, Spider-Man. Wash yourself up and I’ll grab my kit. Be careful cleaning around this until I can stitch it up,” she pointed at the now-covered wound in his side. 

“Do you need any help getting in the shower?” 

He used the hand on his uninjured side to push him to a standing position and she could see the way he shifted his weight to favor the right side of his body. He used his fingers to absently trace the tape around the bandage. “No, ‘m fine. But thanks.”

She nodded and then slipped out of the bathroom. 

She heard the shower curtain slide across the rod and then slide back across once he was in the shower, and she busied herself getting ready for when he came out. She went into his room and found his favorite sweatpants, a pair of socks, and his warmest hoodie. She could tell from the way he was holding himself that his right shoulder had been bothering him again, so she didn’t think getting into a t-shirt was going to be in the cards tonight. 

She made a mental note to talk with Bruce about his shoulder again. She knew that Peter had super healing but she also knew that his healing ability was pretty dumb. If there was a broken bone or a torn ligament, his DNA knew to stitch those two pieces back together, but it didn’t know anything about whether those two pieces were in the correct place. A broken bone still needed to be set and a torn ligament still needed to be monitored. Swinging around the city put a lot of stress on Peter’s shoulders, literally and figuratively, and she was pretty certain something was being pulled out of place. She’d tried to get Peter to consider seeing a physical therapist, but as with most things related to Peter’s own wellbeing, it was a lost cause. So she brushed up on anatomy and gave herself a pretty good idea of what was happening, and learned how to help him herself. She was studying to be a doctor, after all, so this was pretty much within her wheelhouse. 

She walked past the bathroom again and opened the door, putting his clothes next to the sink. “When you’re ready, I put some clothes on the counter. Don’t put the hoodie on yet,” she called out over the noise of the shower.

“You try’na check out m’ abs, MJ?” he teased. Even half asleep and bleeding he was still a flirt. 

“Nice try,” she laughed, “meet me in the kitchen when you’re done,” and she closed the door on her way out.

She walked out to the kitchen and reached for the cabinet under the sink. The first day Peter moved in she put a first aid kit of her own making in this cabinet, and it had been maybe the most used thing in this apartment. Except for that cozy blanket on the couch. She reached for the spray-bottle of Chlorox she kept in the same cabinet and used it to wipe the table before she placed her medical kit down. She learned the hard way once that super healing doesn’t mean you’re immune to infection. That was a long weekend of nursing a fevered Peter and making frantic phone calls to Bruce pleading for a superhero antibiotic. Peter’s body was able to fight off the infection but MJ never took his healing for granted after that day.

She opened the refrigerator and pulled out a gallon of orange juice and the tub of ointment Bruce dubbed “Super Spidey Salve”. When MJ mentioned Peter’s shoulder pain to Bruce he tinkered around with a paste that could provide some pain relief to the young Avenger without knocking him flat on his back. Morgan colored drawings of her favorite superhero on the label and the sight of the little girl’s artwork never failed to make MJ smile.

MJ heard buzz of her cellphone ring just as the water from the shower turned off, and she looked over to her phone.

From: Aunt May

Home safe?

It had become something of a ritual between the two of them to let one know when the other had seen or heard from Peter. Like a typical boy, it didn’t always occur to Peter to check in with a text message or phone call. MJ and May had gotten off to a rocky start in she and Peter’s relationship. MJ didn’t grow up with a mother, so she had a hard time understanding the maternal protectiveness May had for Peter, but MJ and Peter had been together almost four years now and she and May had bonded over the only thing they really had in common. She replied. 

Home.

Best not to give too many details tonight.

The latch on the bathroom door clicked opened and Peter shuffled out in his socks and sweatpants, left hand clutching his warm hoodie and right hand pressed to the wound on his side. His wet hair was slicked to the side and his eyes were half closed. He was clearly exhausted and in pain. MJ stood up and walked to the other side of the table, pulling the chair out for him to sit down in and he dropped, not too gracefully, into the seat. She put a large glass of orange juice into his hand and saw the goosebumps on his arms as he raised the glass to his mouth. It was too cold to be walking around half-naked, so she walked over to the thermostat on the wall to turn the heat up in the room. 

“Not too high, MJ, ‘s expens’ve” he mumbled as he set the glass back down on the table. 

“Peter, you work at one of the richest companies in the world and you’re close and personal friends with the CEO. If you can’t afford a few extra dollars for the heat then you need to ask for raise,” she replied, trying to keep the disapproving tone from her voice. Peter got paid an intern’s salary for his work and never asked for a penny more but MJ knew he was doing the work of five full-time engineers. 

“And finish that,” she demanded as she pointed to the glass of juice on the table. He expended an incredible amount of energy on patrol each night and it was almost impossible for him to keep his caloric intake up with the demands of his body, so it wasn’t unusual for his blood sugar to drop at the end of a long night. He picked the glass back up and gulped down the rest of the juice.

MJ moved her chair next to his and opened the kit on the table beside her. She pulled out the glucose meter and pulled a fresh test strip from the package beside it. Peter moved his pointer finger to the device and once the pin pricked his skin, she held up the test strip to his finger and then inserted it into the machine. Peter put the tip of his finger into his mouth and waited for taste of blood to go away while MJ walked over the oven.

In the rush of the evening she’d almost forgotten about the leftovers she’d put into the oven before Peter showed up. She pulled the door down and waved a mitt across the slightly burnt smell that wafted from the oven. She pulled the hot plate from the oven and placed it on top of a dish towel and then reached down to close the oven door. “Sorry, babe, I lost track of time,” she nodded sympathetically to the singed lasagna, and then grabbed a fork from the drawer before setting it all down on the table in front of Peter. “’s perfectly fine, MJ, tha’ thing could be burnt to a crisp and I’d still eat it right now,” he smiled up at her.

Peter tucked into his dinner as the meter beeped. MJ sat down beside him and grabbed the machine to look at the results. Frowning, she poured Peter another glass of juice. “Still too low. Drink a little more if you can,” she instructed, then rubbed her hand up and down his arm reassuringly. Orange juice and lasagna weren’t exactly a gourmet pair but MJ took good care of Peter so he was willing to make some allowances.

As Peter worked his way through the lasagna MJ pulled some cotton rounds, a box of butterfly bandages, and a bottle of hydrogen peroxide from her kit. Peter winced at the sight of the bottle. That stuff worked but it stung like the devil. She pulled a pair of latex gloves over her hands and then gently pushed his chest forward, toward the table. “Hey, ‘m try’na eat over here,” he whined.

“Hush, I want to get some of these cleaned up before you fall asleep in your food,” she admonished gently as she surveyed the damage to his back.

Not knowing how he got them she inspected each cut for gravel or debris but found nothing that needed to be removed. She dipped the cotton rounds in the hydrogen peroxide and gently placed her hands near the wound, giving him a moment’s warning before she put the cotton against his skin. She felt his muscles tense beneath her fingers as he tried desperately to keep any sound from escaping his lips. “That ‘urts,” he couldn’t keep himself from muttering as she pressed the cotton against the length of the wound. Having cuts cleaned was a lot like jumping into a cold swimming pool. Once you got over the initial shock of it, it was a lot easier to maintain composure but that didn’t mean it got any more comfortable. Peter set his fork down on his now-empty plate and rested an elbow on the table, his head in his hand, letting out a deep breath.

“I’m sorry, babe, just a few more. Okay?” and she counted the number she had left to clean. Twelve counted as a few, right? She worked quickly and deliberately cleaning every cut along his back and then pinching the skin together as she placed several butterfly bandages across each cut. She lightly scratched his back for a moment, giving him a minute of peace to calm his breath, before she coaxed him in to turning his torso toward her and she counted again. “Seven more, okay?” and he nodded his head, body stiffened in anticipation. She worked meticulously and when she was finished she stood up, stripped the gloves from her hands, walked them over to the trash can, and grabbed the glucose meter again.

“Let’s check one more time and then I’ll stitch up the big one, okay” she asked again, not really giving Peter a chance to respond as she stood back in front of him. She pricked his finger and set the machine off to the side, and then reached her right hand out to squeeze the back of his neck. MJ knew Peter. This was his weakness. He shut his eyes and leaned his head forward until it rested against her stomach. Her right hand stayed on the back of his neck, rubbing circles into his tense muscles, while her left hand swept up and down his back, careful of the fresh bandages. They stayed like this for another moment, enjoying the tenderness of each other’s company, before the sound of the meter beeped. Peter moved his head off of her stomach, sitting up straight again, as she reached down to inspect the result.

“Much better,” she declared, her right hand still cupped behind his neck. “Let’s get you stitched up and I’ll put a little bit of this on your shoulder before you fall asleep,” she motioned to the jar she’d pulled from the refrigerator earlier. “It’ll be easier if you’re laying down, so let’s get you over to the bed. Are you okay to stand up?” He nodded his head.

“Couch, no’ bed,” he requested.

“Peter, you’re exhausted,” she pleaded as she looked down at his tired eyes. “You need to get a good night’s sleep and I don’t want you to fall asleep on the couch. You know I’m not strong enough to carry you to bed,” she joked as she made a half-hearted show of flexing her muscles. He gave her a tired laugh, his eyes crinkling at the sides.

Peter and MJ didn’t live together but they’d made a habit of spending most of their nights together this summer on the couch, watching the reruns of Star Trek that played into the wee hours of the night. MJ had grown up with a not-so-secret crush on Geordi La Forge and Peter with the ultimate fanboy crush on Deanna Troi, so they sat together and reminisced over their favorite episodes and the terrible CGI. It was Peter’s favorite part of the day. But it was currently almost 1:30 in the morning and in MJ’s mind, definitely time for bed.

Peter used his good side pushed himself up to a standing position and MJ hovered next to him as he shuffled over to his bedroom. It was times like these he was grateful he couldn’t afford a bigger apartment because it was all of 35 small steps from the kitchen table to the bed. MJ circled her arms around his shoulders as she helped ease him down to a sitting position. She grabbed a fresh towel from the pile of laundry in the hamper next to the bed and draped over the comforter to keep his sheets clean and then helped him carefully lower himself to a laying position. She then reached down and picked his legs up, setting them carefully up on the bed.

Reaching over to the bedside table, she opened the drawer on the bottom. It’s where Peter stored his keepsakes: the old certificate Tony gave him from his first “internship” at Stark Industries, the pair of glasses he used to wear before the spider bite, a leftover piece of vibranium Shuri gave him to tinker around with after the battle with Thanos. She pulled the vibranium from the drawer and slipped it into Peter’s hand. “You know the drill,” she said, repeating the same message she’d given several times before. “I don’t have anything to numb the area so this is going to hurt.”

She moved Peter’s desk lamp over to the bed to give herself a better view of the injury and then walked back to the kitchen to retrieve her kit. She placed a fresh pair of gloves on her hands, grabbed a bottle of saline from the kit, and pulled a fresh hand towel from the laundry. 

Peter’s eyes were closed and MJ felt a small twinge of guilt for what she had to do. It never felt good to see someone you love in pain but it was even worse to know that you were partially responsible for that pain. MJ knew that as a doctor this is something she would have to grapple with on a daily basis, but sitting here next to Peter made it feel a little too real. 

She held the bottle of saline up to Peter’s side and squeezed, catching the fluid rushing out of the wound with the small towel she held against his stomach. It was a runny mixture of dirt and blood. With a gasp, Peter’s fingers clenched around the piece of metal in his right hand and she could hear his breaths shorten. MJ squeezed the saline bottle several more times, swapping the now-saturated towel in her hand with a fresh one from the basket beside her, and only stopping when the towel was no longer soaking up blood. 

With the wound clean she reached for the needle and thread. She looked over at Peter, his brows still pinched together. “I’m about to start. You okay?” she asked, wanting nothing more than to run her hands through his hair right now and let him fall asleep to her touch, avoiding this whole mess. He gave a rushed nod of the head, so she gave him a few seconds to calm his breathing before she placed her hands against his side. Judging by the length of the wound, it was going to take somewhere around forty or so stitches to close it properly. 

“Okay, here we go,” she warned.

She began sewing, focusing on the tying off each stitch properly and keeping even spacing between each stitch. She could feel the rise and fall of Peter’s stomach under her hands and as she progressed she could feel his breathing becoming strained. At twenty she gave herself a break, sitting back and shaking her hands out. A thin beading sweat had formed on Peter’s forehead and he had yet to open his eyes. 

She reached a hand out and softly brushed up and down the side of his ribs. “You’re doing great,” she reassured him. “Almost halfway there.”

“Wha?” he asked incredulously, lifting his head up and looking at her for the first time, before dropping his head against the bed again.

“Sorry, babe,” she offered. “It’ll be over soon.” 

“Yes d’ctor.”

She gave her hands another shake and then picked up the needle and thread again. With practiced ease, she kept her hands moving, ignoring Peter’s strained breaths, until the final stitch was placed. She clipped off the end of the thread and then stood up from the floor. 

She walked back to the kitchen and stripped her gloves off into the trashcan. She washed her hands in the sink, scrubbing until she could no longer detect the awful feel and smell of latex, and then grabbed one more bandage before placing her kit back under the sink. Grabbing the jar of salve, she walked back into Peter’s room. As gently as she was able, she adhered the bandage to Peter’s side, inspecting her handiwork as she protected it.

She moved the lamp from the bed and closed the curtains, before kicking off her shoes and climbing up on the bed. With the jar in hand she crawled over Peter and then scooted herself into a sitting position next to head. She placed a hand on his shoulder and coaxed him into rolling onto his back, scooping up his head and placing it in her lap. She unscrewed the jar and took a palm full of the salve, rubbing it between her hands, and then placed both of her hands on Peter’s right shoulder. 

Softly massaging the pain reliever into his sore muscles, MJ looked down at the face of her boyfriend. His hair was starting to dry and a few soft brown curls had fallen across his forehead. She reached a hand over to sweep the hair out of closed eyes and she could see the tension starting to leave his face. With light pressure she worked her hands over the areas she knew gave him pain, hoping that she was bringing him some comfort, and occasionally she’d was rewarded with a soft “mmm” or the twinge of a smile. She moved her hands from his shoulder up to the sides of his neck, where he held all of his tension, and when the salve had absorbed into his skin, she lifted his head up and scooted out from underneath his lap.

She twisted the cap back on the salve and then reached for a blanket folded at the foot of the bed, draping it over Peter’s prone body. Checking that his breathing had evened out, MJ started to crawl back over him before she felt a hand reach up and touch her leg.

“Stay.”

His eyes were still closed but his request was clear and MJ didn’t have the heart to deny him.

She lifted up the blanket and pressed her body against his side, craving his warmth on this cold night, then reached her arm down and slipped her hand into his, With her cheek pressed into his shoulder, the grassy smell of the salve filled her nostrils. He leaned over to the side, resting his head against hers, and she let the rhythm of the rise and fall of his chest lull her to sleep.


End file.
